


his brother, the siren

by thefudge



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Nudity, Sexual Tension, Voyeurism, soundtrack: Trevor Something - Into Your Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 12:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18261647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefudge/pseuds/thefudge
Summary: He’s never tired of watching him dance.  Ben/Klaus





	his brother, the siren

**Author's Note:**

> i hope no one minds that i am very likely gonna write for every ship this show throws at me  
> (also shout-out to kingcobrakai1972 on tumblr!)

People assume the drugs make Klaus a chaotic, uncoordinated dancer. 

But they're dead wrong.

His true superpower is maintaining his flair all night long, even after snorting a whole bag of goodies. 

He sways and writhes to _New Order_   without missing a single beat. There’s no amateur flailing, no awkward faux pas, no momentary disorientation. He always knows where he is as long as there’s a rhythm. As long as music is playing, he can dance on volcano rocks, he doesn’t care.

He moves his hands like an Indian deity, twirling his fingers in complicated patterns, knitting a web of sensuous movements that contort his body in unexpected ways. His shirt rides up against his belly and his trousers dip low. He cranes his neck and lets the strobe lights dapple his skin.

Ben watches from a low-lit corner. Not like anyone can see him.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, drinking in the scene. He stares at the only thing mooring him to the land of the living. His brother, the siren.

He’s never told Klaus how much he likes his dancing. The way he rocks his hips, flaunting the pelvic bones and the hollow triangle of flesh, the way he carries and releases the tension in his shoulders, the way his whole body snakes through the crowd, creating these hypnotic pockets of energy wherever he goes.

It keeps Ben mesmerized for hours.

Yeah, he complains to Klaus that he’s bored of watching him party all night, but it’s never really true.  

He’s never tired of watching him dance.  Every time is novel. Every time is the first time.

And what Ben likes to do sometimes when he knows that his brother won’t remember it in the morning is to slip between the bodies and appear right next to him.

Klaus always leaves a bit of room almost without realizing, because he’s so used to Ben being there.

His brother doesn’t dance, but he follows Klaus’ movements like a shadow, cleaving to his sweat, his skin, making sure he sees his face as he turns and turns and turns to the beat of the music.

In his happy stupor, Klaus reaches out to him, trying to put his arms around his shoulders, and even if they go through air, Ben leans forward, catching a glimpse of the human warmth that has been denied him. Klaus’ breath tastes of vodka and cherries and Ben wonders what he would do if he was _really_ here. He’d like to put his hands on Klaus’ waist and feel the pulsing muscle there, the hidden strength that Klaus doesn’t want the world to know.

Sometimes Klaus is already dancing with someone. Sometimes Klaus is making out with someone. Sometimes Ben stands between him and the random guy of the week and Klaus reaches forward and kisses shadow-Ben, his face grafted on the dancer’s face.

Ben doesn’t kiss back but he lets the vortex take him. He feels ashamed afterwards.

He tells himself this time is the last time.

Somehow, the siren’s song always calls to him.

Klaus never brings it up in the morning. He never mentions their dancing.

Ben is grateful for his silence…but it also rankles. As if this part of them belongs in the grave.

Tonight, he’s not going to approach him. He’s going to let him dance his body away. And when the party is over, he’s going to follow him home.

If he should take someone home with him tonight, he’ll watch his brother fuck another man and get fucked in return.  He will watch the bodies slipping in and out of each other dispassionately. He will lean against the wall and swallow back the desire to be a body.

It happened once or twice that Klaus searched his gaze and held it there as he came around a stranger’s cock. He looked at Ben with drunken anguish, almost as if it were Ben fucking another man instead.

_Why aren’t you inside me?_

Ben doesn’t like to think about those times. Sometimes he wants to disappear. He doesn’t want to be a part of this anymore.

The siren’s song always calls him back.

 

 

 

Klaus turns his head enough to see that Ben is watching him from his usual corner. 

His brother doesn't know how self-conscious he gets when he knows Ben's watching. It's like he doesn't know how to move anymore. 

Ben's eyes are fucking hypnotizing, so dark yet full of light, accepting every part of him, even when he doesn't accept himself.

It turns Klaus on so fucking much to know he's watching, but he'd rather take another pill than admit this to himself. 

He dances, he dances and offers his body to his gaze. 

 

 

 

“Ugh. If you were really here, you could undress me and lay me down in the bath,” Klaus says as he wrestles with his zipper.

“What makes you think I’d do that?”

Klaus grins. “Any chance you get to see this butt.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “You’re definitely modest.”

Klaus pouts. “You mean you don’t like my butt?”

“You’re drunk and disgusting.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk.” And he removes the last of his clothing. They've been in each other's company for so long that Klaus assumes his nakedness doesn't faze him.

He walks slowly towards Ben’s spot.

Ben feels a different kind of emptiness that has nothing to do with being dead.

“If you were here, I’d make you admit it.”

“A-admit what?”

“That you like my butt,” Klaus murmurs, gazing down the length of Ben’s phantom body.

“You’re a child.”

Klaus grins with peculiar sadness. “We’re not children anymore.”

“I hadn’t noticed, the way you’re acting.”

Klaus runs a hand through his crinkly hair. Smudges his mascara. “Fuck, I miss you. I miss you so much.”

They just come out of nowhere, these moments of furtive intimacy.

Ben has nothing to say to that. He nods and looks away.

 

 

 

Klaus lies in the lukewarm water, a siren at rest, eyes half-closed, mouth humming an old tune.

Ben sits on the edge of the tub. His runs his ghostly finger along the water’s surface. He likes that the water doesn’t ripple.

He could do this for hours. 

Klaus’ eyes startle open.

Ben feels it too.

The ghostly finger touched Klaus’ thigh, just a casual brush, and it felt – it _felt_ –

“Holy shit, was that you?”

Ben tries again. The finger goes through flesh. He tries a second and a third time. He heaves a sigh. “I guess we imagined it.”

“Yeah, maybe… or _maybe_ …”

Ben swallows. “Maybe.”

 

 

 

(months later, Ben manages to punch the pills out of Klaus’ jaw and in the manic euphoria of the moment the brothers forget this wasn’t the first time)

 


End file.
